What was it that possessed me! What was it in the sight of those few words which altered in a moment all my determinations? I speak sincerely—and I looked into my own heart at the time, and have done so often since—and I believe that it was solely the awakening of old associations—the revival of the memories of happy youthful days. I pictured Father Bonneville, and Mariette and myself all living together again, as we had done in those happy days on the banks of the Rhine, and my teaching Mariette to read and write, totally forgetting that she was no longer a little girl of six or seven years old, and of our having a pretty house of our own, and a nice garden, and spending our days in pleasantness and peace. We are all dream-led in this world, and this was but one of the pleasantest dreams of my life, come back upon me to show how much the visions of imagination can effect against the realities of reason. I left the door of the post-office, where I read the letter, with my resolution fixed—and now unchangeable—to visit England as soon as Father Bonneville was well enough to undertake the voyage. A NEW LAND. I was on the deck about half-past six ante meridian, on as fine a morning as ever broke upon the world. We had encountered very severe gales, varying from the north-west, at which they first began, almost all round the compass. I could not think what was in the weather. Its only object seemed to be, to battle the sea and to fret the Atlantic. One glorious thunder-storm had diversified the monotony of the voyage, and I shall never forget either the grand masses of cloud which rose up in the splendor of the evening from the sea, like the purple mountains of a new land, rising under the wand of an enchanter, or the vivid flashes of the lightning as they blazed around us during the live-long night. The thunder, I must confess, was far less loud and sublime than I have heard it on land, where rocks and mountains and forests sent it roaring through innumerable echoes. To this storm succeeded much calmer weather, and on the morning which I now speak of, the vessel with all sail set, and a favorable wind, could barely reckon five knots an hour. There was a soft and sleepy splendor about the sky as the sun rose—a bright softness of atmosphere, almost misty—which received and retained long a tint from the rosy coloring of the sun’s early rays.